


pavane pour un prince héritier

by honeyedgold



Series: les contes de la nuit (tales of the night) - nightverse [4]
Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: D/S subtext, M/M, So yeah, Very Distant Future, chapters not really in chronological order, i am also a classical music nerd, it's probably not SUBtext at this point, may contain OCs in the future, mild hint of physical abuse, someone please help crown prince rudolf, thank you mark and anton and the rest of mark's fleet of rudolfs, though none of it actually occurs, titles are in french just because okay?, unless i get a fit of organization and try to put it into order, warning: todolf is fucked up with a ton of "more than mind control" subtext and IS NOT HEALTHY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 15:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedgold/pseuds/honeyedgold
Summary: tales of an erstwhile crown prince and current dark angel.or: rudolf gets what he had wanted and chosen, but was it the right thing for him?or: character development can still take place after death, you know.





	pavane pour un prince héritier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claradwor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claradwor/gifts), [Torilynn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Torilynn).



> Hello and welcome to a new series! I’ve been thinking about writing something for the Elisabeth fandom proper, since I’ve only written crossovers so far. (Read: Death creeping on poor unfortunate souls)
> 
> This wouldn’t have existed without the utter(ly lovable) enablers at the Elisabeth Discord server: Rudolf (kronprinzvonoesterreich) and Clara (claradwor) in particular. Here’s to you. 
> 
> I hope you all have as much fun reading this as I did writing it.
> 
> I can be yelled at on Tumblr at honeyed-gold ;)
> 
> Also, there's a [TVTropes article](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/LesContesDeLaNuit).

November 21, 1916.

Dates no longer meant anything to her, not truly. She had simply happened to see it on a passing newspaper.

The afterlife was a wondrous place to be in. She had but to picture something for it to happen: a glass of sorbet with crystallized violets from Demel. A moment of peace inside a Viennese coffeehouse, watching its denizens arguing politics. The view of the infinite blue of the Ionian Sea from atop a lush green hill near the Achilleion. In death she was free to be the seagull she had always likened herself to, without any rules to bind her or eyes to burn her with their prying gazes.

All those things to do, and yet she was at Schönbrunn. She had simply felt as if she had to be there for some reason. And so, Sisi found herself wandering the grounds of the palace, her mind unusually troubled.

A single black feather floated past her. Her gaze followed it as it rode astride the blue winter wind.

Someone will leave this palace soon, then. Escorted out by the dark angels instead of in gilded coaches. She had seen them at work often enough, their numbers legion, as she traveled. It wasn’t often that Death exits his dominion by himself. He has as much work to do as any human ruler after all.

But whom? Who was to depart Schönbrunn?

Lost in thought, she turned back to her path through the orangerie - and froze. A Todesengel was standing in front of her, just far enough away to make its features indistinguishable, a white sheet of paper under dark hair and darker clothing.

“What do you want?” She snapped, almost on instinct. “You have no power over me!”

The angel didn’t move a muscle.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she took a few hesitant steps towards it. Did it bear a message from Death? No; surely he would have informed her of anything he wished to say in person. He had never been exactly shy about it.

Then, suddenly, a memory returned. Her heart leapt wildly into her throat from recognition.

“Rudolf?” She tried, almost unwilling to believe it. The angel watched her with icy, fathomless black eyes as she approached. He had changed, to be sure, resembling his new brethren. Yet she recognized her own features, and Franz’s, in his handsome, bloodless face still.

A flurry of feathers later, he was gone.

 _“Rudolf!”_ She cried out. “Rudolf, where are you?” Only the stillness of the gardens answered her. The expanse of gray skies overhead suddenly felt as oppressing as the marble ceiling of the Imperial Crypt, lit in flickering torches and candlelight.

Turning on her heels, she parted the curtains and strode straight into Death’s realm.

“How dare you.”

“And greetings to you too, my dear Empress.” Death waved a hand languidly, and the angels attending him retreated into the darkness. “I trust your travels were… interesting?”

“Not as _interesting_ as the fact that, apparently, my _son_ is now part of your rank-and-file.”

Death’s laughter was a low, rumbling sound. “I did try to tell him you would not take it well. He thought otherwise.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her tone made it painfully clear that it was just a figure of speech, if even that. Empress Elisabeth Amalie Eugenie of the illustrious House of Habsburg and the most glorious state of Austria does not beg. Instead, she glowered at him, as she was wont to do. Death only steepled his fingers together and smiled in response. Ornery as ever, but that enhanced her appeal even more. It delighted him to no end to see those brown eyes blaze.

“No. You’re lying.” She didn’t sound like she believed her own words. “He would never join of his own volition.” _I wouldn’t have._ “He -“ Her voice cracked. “He deserves peace. Not an eternity of scurrying around doing your bidding.”

“Elisabeth.” Death’s smile grew even wider. “What possible purpose could I have in deceiving you?”

“I demand to talk to him in person.”

“He is… currently otherwise engaged.”

“Then I can return another time.” She was not about to retreat so easily. And as loath as she might be to admit it… she had longed for a chance to speak with him. Perhaps to make amends. A little hope stirred in her heart even as she coolly declared, “I have nothing further to discuss with you.”

As soon as the last trace of her white dress had swept imperiously out of sight, a soft rustle filled the silence she had left - not fabric brushing together, but whispering feathers. Like him, any of his angels can move without a sound; except when they choose to announce their presence as his newest… _acquisition…_ did. Rudolf glided over to his side, and following an unspoken command settled down at the foot of his throne. His dark head was laid upon Death’s knee, black wings folded neatly behind him.

“Mein Schatz,” Death told him, amusement evident in his voice. “It is not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Follow your own counsel, then, and stop spying on mortals. You were doing an awful lot of it back then.”

“And aren’t you glad I did?”

“Incredibly. But that’s beside the point.” He nudged at Death’s hand with his head. Long, white fingers began to card through Rudolf’s hair in response. He was as close to a headache as an angel could ever get, and the gestures soothed him a little.

“What do you make of that conversation?”

Rudolf snorted. “She was just like that in life. I was only ever a cause she can fight for, nothing more. Once Father relented, and Valerie was born, I was left to my own devices while she doted on the youngest. I don’t expect she would change, especially now that she’s finally gotten what she wanted.”

“And yet you still love her.” It wasn’t a question. Mother did rather inspire that reaction in others. Father loved her as well, but he worshipped her like some distant Venus. The morning star, slipping fleetingly out of reach every time he’d approach. She didn’t seem real… even to him, who thought that they lived in the same dream world. One can love Elisabeth, but none can ever truly understand her.

Was there a point where his mother loved? She had been an idealistic young girl, wide-eyed and innocent, much like his Mary. But the fires lit within them were not the same.

Mary was gone, scattered into lights on the wind. She was all the happier for that, he knew. He felt her presence sometimes as he did Death’s bidding in his stead, warm, soft, tinkling like wind-chimes. Rudolf and Elisabeth, scarred by the icy fingertips of Death, remained bound in their mortal forms.

Are they more or less than souls who have chosen to let go like Mary?

Absorbed in his own thoughts, Rudolf barely blinked when Elisabeth made her return to the throne room one eternity later. “I would quite like to tell you -“ she started, in a marginally calmer tone, but then stopped short at the tableau before her. She looked absolutely scandalized. Rudolf savored the moment, arching an eyebrow as if daring her to say something. When she found her voice again, it was to state, “I would appreciate a private discussion with my son.”

Death stood, soundlessly, and made a mocking bow to her before melting into the black. For his part, Rudolf stood. His gaze was as cold and utterly contemptuous as he could make it.  

“Why are you here?”  
  
“I should ask you the same thing.” The sight that she had just had to witness was, in all likelihood, burned into Elisabeth’s mind for the rest of her non-existence.

“In case it had escaped your notice,” he gestured towards himself, “I have joined the Todesengel.”

“Playing the fool does not become you. Answer my question.”

“And I suppose _you_ came because you are concerned about my wellbeing?” He scoffed.

“You’ve become his… _creature,_ Rudolf!” The hesitation before she made her choice of word caused Rudolf to bristle. It spoke of so many unsavory terms that she was without a doubt too well-bred to use, and that rankled him to no end. What right did she have to judge him when she herself was a consummate hypocrite?

“And are you any better, _Mother?”_ He snapped back. Elisabeth recoiled as if physically struck. He supposed he should feel guilty, but at the moment he was not feeling remotely charitable. “You ran from him all your life, and yet you fell into his arms in Geneva so readily! You looked for him when he spurned you!” _After you begged him, on your knees in the Kapuzinergruft, to take you along and spare you from all the pain and guilt strangling you. I know, Mama. I sat on top of my own coffin and watched._ The erstwhile Crown Prince was shaking visibly with anger. His fists repeatedly clenched and unclenched at his side in a futile attempt to regain control. “You abandoned me when I came in greatest need. I knew you’ve grown cold, but I had never thought that you could be so heartless. I simply refused to believe it. And for that I paid the ultimate price.” He shook his head in disgust at his own naiveté.  
  
“Do you know why we were at Schönbrunn, Mother?” Without waiting for her to reply, Rudolf plunged onwards. “Father passed on today. I attended to him. It was pneumonia.”

Her expression remained unchanged. Her heart, however, contracted briefly and sharply, as it recalled that scorching day in Bad Ischl. How handsome her Emperor had looked - how it had felt just like a fairytale when he approached her and requested a dance -

No. The dead is in the past. She had the eternal present to attend to.

And yet, her voice had inexplicably dimmed its fire when it sounded again. “He didn’t choose to stay?”

“What else is there to stay for? He lived a long life in a peaceful realm. Attained all he ever could. Did not subvert any expectations.” _Everything neither of us were, Mother._ The unsaid words were apparently heard loud and clear, for Elisabeth flushed.  
  
“You also knew I had cut my bonds with the Emperor long ago. Would it have factored into his decision if I had tried to intercede?”  
  
“You could have _tried._ At least made a token effort of pretending you actually cared about me. _” Or anyone and anything outside of yourself and your own interests._ He briefly pondered bringing up Valerie, but decided against it. This was between him and his royal mother alone. Not that she was much of one to him once he was no longer of use to her. 

“Do you have anything further to say to me other than heaping blame onto that which neither of us can alter?” Her voice had regained the same regally icy tenor she had used to turn him - and the rest of the world - away. Nothing could touch her, no, that implacable Venus, distant and cold in her presence.     

The discussion was over. If anything, both of them knew a lost cause when they saw one.

After his mother had left once again, Rudolf wheeled round at the sound of slow, deliberate applause from behind him.

“You knew she was coming back.” He said accusingly. “I could have made use of a warning.”

“You could have.” Death agreed genially. “But then we wouldn’t have had such an… entertainment, now would we?” He kissed him then, his lips soft and pleasantly cool instead of freezing like their first time.

Rudolf leaned into the kiss, letting the familiar sense of serenity fill his hollowed-out heart to the brim. Pale fingers grasped at white-blond hair and trailed down marble skin.

He opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He had expected to see another pair of closed eyes, giving into the sensations. Or, perhaps even something that mirrored the feelings that were roiling in his mind, if not the residual _anger_ and _frustration_ from what had just transpired, then at least the _needing_ and _wanting_ and -

He was met with an all-consuming abyss instead. Black and infinite in its inhumanity.

His stomach lurched; his throat tightened up with instinctual fear, choking him as if the hands currently at his waist were wrapped tightly around his neck. If blood still ran through his veins, his heart would have been hammering wildly against his ribcage.

But he couldn’t stop. Even if he had wanted to.

His will had been forfeit long ago.

Once sated, Death pulled away. His lips were peeled back slightly to bare sharp white teeth. A hiss of air - contentment? - passed through them.

Rudolf felt utterly and oddly drained. It was with something like gratitude that he obeyed the command to fall to his knees, right back where he was before they had been interrupted. He didn’t think he would have been able to stand for another minute, let alone walk away. His head was whirling like a child’s top.

“You were afraid,” Death noted. The tone was light, dancing over the syllables. His right hand drummed out a slow, repetitive rhythm on the arm-rest.

“No - I -”

“Don’t. _Lie._ To me.” His voice sharpened and Rudolf flinched away from its edge. For a fleeting moment he thought he might be struck, but he knew better than to scramble away. That would _definitely_ earn him a backhand at least.

Something tightened in Death’s face, and he sighed. “You fear me still. I doubt it would ever disappear.”

Guilt twisting at his insides, Rudolf looked downwards. It was true that he could not help what he felt; but it was an odd sensation, nevertheless. He didn’t fear Death as that long-ago child, nestled in his cold embrace. His friend - his companion - had always been the one he would call on when the fears and anxieties become too much to bear alone. It was unreasonable for him to behave as others would, now that he was actually invulnerable to any harm that might be done to him.

He knew then, just as he had known when he was alive, that he would do anything to have that voice whispering, feather-light, into his mind, for all of his eternity. He had chosen this himself and would not have it any other way.

The alternative would be too frightening to even contemplate. If the abyss was all he would ever have, then it would only be natural not to struggle against the raging whirlpool drawing him in.

It seemed Death could feel the conviction too, because he bent down towards his Angel. Rudolf tilted his head up, baring his neck. He was pleasantly surprised that what he got was a gentle brush of lips on the forehead instead, Death’s breath cold on his skin as he murmured a single word into the kiss, “Good.”

The jolt from the touches that ensued had Rudolf’s entire body arching. He tried valiantly to bite back a sound that was most unbecoming, but utterly failed. Death’s laughter at his disgruntled expression melted into his bones, warming them to something almost human, but not quite.  

 _That alone,_ he decided as hands other than his continued to roam, _was worth the trouble of the confrontation._ Perhaps he should antagonize Mother more if airing out his feelings was this productive. 

* * *

 

Sisi stopped at the boundaries of the mortal realm, her hand already on the curtains. Her heart was racing, her mind awhirl with thoughts that had not occurred to her for quite some time.

She remembered Rudolf then, clearer than she had in the years after Lake Geneva. No, after _Mayerling._

It was hard to believe that the small, sickly, weak boy managed to survive the imperial court. And yet he did. He had grown into a facsimile of Franz, under the same tutelage his father had gone through. The same dark hair, ramrod posture, military uniform and proud bearing. The child had been whipped into a man, stirring with liberal ideas and fervor. That young man was the consummate _ne plus ultra_ of eligible bachelors.

Until Stéphanie.

Their union was not wholly disastrous, but she had misliked it from the beginning, and said as much. Poor Franz, for his part, approved of it. Of course he did. His daughter-in-law was of a similar bent to him; an obedient, naïve creature that knew nothing but what she was raised and expected to be, nothing of the facts of life in all of its vivacity. A preservation of the order of things.

Perhaps the previous Archduchess would have liked to have _her_ as an Empress to scrutinize instead of the untamed peasant princess she actually got.

She was not surprised when the initially happy marriage fell apart. But what could they do? Divorce would be a scandal. The couple wound up openly pursuing other leads to their happiness; _that_ was the way. After all, his parents did the same. Sisi had her travels. Franz had Frau Schratt in his affections. All was well between them, as well as could be so long as a proper distance is kept.

Christmas 1888 at the Hofburg: him presenting her with rare writings from Heine as a gift, and that terrible, wrenching, nearly inconsolable sob that broke free of him when he had embraced her.

But she was barely able to flee the advances of her personal tormentor, let alone reach out to Rudolf. She had flattered herself that Death would train his gaze on her as she flitted from place to place, and leave her heir eventually. What could he possibly want from her child? As much as she loved Rudolf, she had to concede: he had not her strength of spirit. He was right to accuse her of being little better than he was, but at the very least she fought and fought before finally giving in to Death. And certainly not by her own hand, unlike someone she wouldn’t name.  

 _Ah, but you may well have stabbed yourself with that same file if you traveled around seeking him._ Something whispered inside her mind. It sounded disturbingly like her conscience.

She thought of him again, sitting contentedly in submission at Death’s feet. The sight had frightened her so! To think that a proud Habsburg - a ruler of the world of men - could be reduced to such a state, a mere pet… And his eyes! Until he had noticed she was present, there was _nothing_ in their pitch-black depths.

She wanted, so much, to believe that he was little more than one of her parrots, and what he had spoken to her was simply the fruit of Death twisting his thoughts with poison. But it was the truth.

Rudolf may have died nearly a decade before she did, but it was only moments ago that she realized she had lost her son for good long before that. It wasn’t enough that she had alienated him, no. She _ran_ from him. Because he was haunted by the shadow that haunted her, and because he _was_ that shadow.

And because there was no longer anyone left to observe her - or comfort her - Sisi wept.  


**Author's Note:**

> More author’s notes than you’d care to read:
> 
> The title translates to “Pavane for a Crown Prince,” in a homage to Maurice Ravel’s _Pavane pour une infante défunte_. You’re welcome to listen to it as a soundtrack to this fic.
> 
> Fun facts: That piece was dedicated to Winnaretta Singer, heir to the Singer sewing machine company, and a lesbian (who had lots of high-profile, public, passionate affairs with women) happily married without sex to the openly gay composer Prince Edmond de Polignac (yes, a real prince). Ravel was under the Princesse’s patronage, along with many other avant-garde talents at the de Polignac salon. She and her husband were actually contemporaries of Rudolf’s, and the Prince died two years after Rudolf did. The Princesse outlived her husband by 42 years. She dedicated her influence, time, and money to the development of arts and science, worked with Marie Curie to convert private limousines into mobile radiology units for soldiers at the front, improved public housing in Paris, and assisted in the construction of a 360-bed hospital. One of her paintings was mistaken for a Manet, and she performed as pianist and organist at her own salon.
> 
> Funny fact: She reportedly climbed on top of an armoire on her wedding night (to Prince Louis de Scey-Montbéliard) and threatened to kill the groom if he came near her. The marriage was annulled five years later.
> 
> (shrugs) What can I say, I’m a nerd who likes badass women.
> 
> Speaking of women… Don’t worry for Sisi. Writing them fighting was hard for me too, but the bad blood needs to be cleared out for them to be able to reunite. A huge obstacle in their relationship in-show and in real life is a lack of communication, but I do hope that in the afterlife they are able to find some character development. 
> 
> That line re: _ne plus ultra_ was lifted from _A Nervous Splendor_ by Frederic Morton - great read for Rudolf fans. I bought and devoured it on my second, fateful trip to Vienna.
> 
> And as an addendum? Do not take anything my Death says at face value. There is always a motive behind it. He is by no means good, or neutral.
> 
> This fic, like all of mine, was written with Mark Seibert’s portrayal of Death in mind. It is his Death that I’m absolutely infatuated with. My usual Rudolf that I picture is Anton Zetterholm - but this ‘verse in particular was heavily inspired by this gorgeous fanart of Thomas Hohler as a Todesengel, courtesy of [julia666](http://julia666.tumblr.com/). (Permission acquired to put it directly onto the fic) It also plays fast and loose with history, because the more I learn about the real Rudolf, the less I like him. I much prefer my poor little prince.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 


End file.
